Three Hundred and Ninety Eight
by Author Unknown1
Summary: Nigelcentric. Chapter One: Bare bottoms, beard growth, and fainting.


**Three Hundred and Ninety Eight:**  
_A Nigel-centric Crossing Jordan fan fiction._

_Obligatory Disclaimer:_

No profits gained from the dodgy depiction of NBC's show unless you count that swelling of the heart pride at finally getting of my arse and writing something.

**Author's notes:**

If you review my history you'll see I have a tendency to not finish things. I "not finish things" quite well, in fact. It's my specialty. So it is all together likely that I will also not finish this. This is a warning. It is not my intent, but my acknowledged weakness of incompletion that causes me to leave things at a premature standstill. Forgive me, ahead of time.

* * *

Bare feet in a morgue weren't entirely sanitary. At the least, they were cumbersome and ungraceful. Whereas turning on your heel in a nice pair of trainers or chucks would have been smart and stylish, turning on your bare heel creating that squeaky skin to linoleum sound as if you were a youngster just out of the pool was slightly less hip. At the most, there were liquids and objects available on the floor that could do a good bit of damage to unprotected tootsies, not to mention it was completely unsanitary and all-around gross. There was a reason why it was recommended that you wear flip-flops in a public shower, the least of which being a fashion statement.

"Hello all! Lovely day in the morgue, wouldn't you say? I just received the most interesting look from that new girl with the red hair. What is her name? I think she's a temp, if I'm not mistaken. Quite fresh, don't you think?" Nigel walked into an examining room occupied by both Bug and Lily. "Lily! You didn't tell me you were visiting. How's tricks? I knew you couldn't stay away for long," he said with a wink.

The two exchanged looks before turning back to their friend. It seemed a while before either of them could speak. They seemed astonished and confused.

"Nigel? What are you doing here?" Lily finally managed after forgoing her fish-gasping-for-air impression.

"It's much too early for existential conversation," he grinned. When he noticed the seriousness take precedent between them both he grimaced his mouth in confusion. "What? Have something in my teeth? Big growth on the side of my head?" Concerned silence answered him. "What? What, for God's sakes!"

"You're…supposed to be in the hospital," Bug said, glancing at Lily.

Nigel squinted, not understanding. It was a good reason to be confused. He put his hand to his chest and noticed the fabric wasn't quite right. He ran the tip of his finger across the seam of the neckline of the garment and chanced to look down.

"Sweet Nancy," he muttered vaguely. He looked down at the hospital gown and confirmed that there was a draft. Though he was obviously confused and disturbed by the situation, for now his embarrassment bellied his desire for more information. He, blushing, clinched the back of his gown with his fist before he queried tentatively, "Wh-Why am I in a hospital gown?"

Nigel couldn't help but notice the bottled happiness that Lily was hiding beneath her veneer of concern. There was a war of expressions going on ranging from an obvious desire to embrace him, a concern at his welfare, and agitation at his appearance in the morgue. Truth be told, Nigel could, himself, feel a bit of a civil war of emotions building up, as well. Most of it, though, was covered in a nice helping of confusion or, cleverly colloquial-ed, what-the-hellness.

"You've actually been in a coma," Bug said, a bit bluntly. Lily shot him a look, which Bug returned with a shrugging apologetic expression.

"I've been what?" he stuttered. Suddenly an undeniable feeling of wooziness and nausea hit, not completely caused by the conflicting emotions. His arm hurt and, not entirely surprised, he spied an entry point for an IV that he'd apparently yanked out in half-consciousness. After a moment of self-evaluation he surmised he's probably yanked out a catheter too. A brief reenactment of how that must've felt left him feeling all the woozier and unsteady. He leant against a doorframe letting his clinched fist go. There were more immediate issues to be dealt with than his bare bottom.

"Nige…" Bug started, seeing the color drain from his already pale face. He went over and put a hand on his shoulder, at the ready.

Nigel put a hand to his face and felt as thick as a beard he'd ever grown on it, wondering how he hadn't noticed the difference before. Probably the same reason he'd been able to pull a catheter out—oh. Woozy again.

From the opposite door and the other side of the currently unimportant corpse Doctor Garret Macy entered in a fuss.

"Lily, Bug, the hospital just called. It's about Nigel he's…" A beat. "Nigel? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Passing out," he replied with a determined look before his eyes rolled back in his head and his knees buckled. Bug had just enough time to wrap his arms around his torso and awkwardly keep him from falling.


End file.
